Eventide - III
Chapter III
Sunlight crept into the loft above the tavern's stables, splashing across the floor in burnished hues. Outside, the world was slowly coming to wakefulness and the titter of birds roosting in the eves could be heard. Owen awoke with a yawn and, trying to roll onto his side, felt him-self impeded by something heavy that weighed upon his chest. Blinking eyes that were still heavy with sleep, he gazed at the shining gold-en fur of Richard who still lay curled upon his chest.
Thinking the fox was still asleep, he nuzzled between Richard's ears, reminded of the night they had shared by the intimate closeness and the soft brush of vulpine fur against his own.
A paw cupped at his sheath, followed by the sound of a familiar giggle. "Finally wake up?" asked the fox.
Owen blushed. The paw caressed along the curvature of the furred rise, the touch eliciting a warmth he had come to welcome. "Now I am," he replied sleepily.
"Good," Richard murmured into the still air as he shifted and rose, propping himself up on his elbows above the prostrate otter. Bringing the very tip of his muzzle to brush lightly over Owen's nose, he continued, "how do you feel?"
"A little tired, maybe a bit sore."
"No no, I mean about what we did last night."
"Oh. I, um, I really liked it, if that's what you mean," replied Owen.
Richard studied his face for a few moments, ears canted back slightly before he smiled. "I'm glad. It was really nice for me, too. If you want, we could do it again some time."
Craning his neck, he nosed against the ruff of the fox's cheek. "What about now?" Owen whispered sheepishly.
Rolling his eyes, Richard shook his head. "No, I'm sorry. I'll need to be going back to see my father. There's some important business that he has to attend to, which means I get to suffer through it with him."
"Hmph." Owen snorted. "Can we at least have breakfast, though?"
"Of course, silly," the fox retorted, "but we'll need to get dressed first."
After a hasty washing--just enough to get the smell from their fur--the pair meandered down to the tavern common room. There they were greeted by Bess who gave them a knowing look.
"There's some oat hotcakes and lilac syrup in the kitchen. You're both welcome to it." She said before turning to Richard, whom she laid a massive paw upon his head. "I'd also advise that you take a proper bath before returning to your father."
Amidst blushes and a few curious looks, they slunk to the kitchens. Inside was warm and surprisingly spacious, despite being dominated by a massive oven and wooden table. The plate of promised food, along with a modest pitcher of ale was set up in the corner, out of the way of the kitchen hands.
"You know," Owen mused around a mouth-full of cake as he scratched at a matted patch of fur, "you never did tell me about yourself."
Richard nodded as he pinched a few fruits from a nearby bowl. "Shall I tell you now?" He asked.
"When I said I was the son of a merchant, I wasn't exactly telling the truth," Richard began as he drenched syrup across oatcakes. "while we did begin as merchants, it's been all but lost to the family for generations, now.
"I'll give you a brief history lesson--the same one my instructor gave me. [$city] and all of the surrounding Midlands is ruled by six Noble Houses. My father is actually the son of one of those very bloodlines: the house of Blackpaw." Richard stated, his voice taking on a serious tone.
"So does that mean--?"
"Yes."
Owen took a long draught from his cup as he tried to wrap his mind about what Richard had just divulged to him. If this was true, then he, some nameless otter, had had sex with one of the most important creatures in the city--if not the entire Midlands.
A black paw lay across his own, Richard's amber eyes turning soft as he gazed across the small expanse at the otter. "Owen?"
"Why didn't you tell me earlier?" He asked, surprised at the tone of his of his own voice.
Richard's ears fell back a bit. "I didn't want it to affect your decisions--I wanted it to be as two equals."
"I don't think I understand," Owen muttered.
Shifting to sit beside Owen, the fox gave his paw a squeeze. "I won't lie to you. I did it for selfish reasons, but I meant it; I'm tired of being my father's trophy as the one who will carry on the House line. I'm tired of living the life of a stuffy noble--I want to see the world as someone who lives in it."
Owen hesitated a moment before speaking again. "You really mean that,"
"Yes, I do." He whispered, leaning close. "If you met the girl they were trying to betroth me with, you'd believe me."
"Really?" Owen asked, raising a brow.
Richard nodded. "Oh, she's a lovely vixen, sure, but I can't get a moment's peace. She actually sneaked into my quarters one night--I was lucky to find her first. She was laying on my bed completely naked."
"Okay; but from now on, no more keeping secrets." He replied, hiding a smirk behind a paw.
Richard gave a nod as he tipped another oat-cake onto Owen's plate. "Of course, otter. But whatever you do, keep this one."
"When will we be able to meet again?" Owen asked as they walked the short distance to the edge of the Noble's district.
Richard leaned in and planted a chaste kiss upon his cheek. "Tomorrow, around noontide."
"Meet me by the docks, then. I've got the perfect place to show you." He said, returning the gesture.
With a wave, Richard hurried up the street only to disappear around the high walls of the gate.
•••
Slogging up the stone pier and along the old flagstone path that lead to the wall gate, Owen gently teased the wooden portal open before slipping through the narrow crack and into the wide, grassy courtyard of the abbey grounds. Now that the feast was over, the grounds were quiet, save for those who tended to the garden or orchard.
Padding quickly across the lawn, trailing a row of sodden paw prints in his wake, Owen was surprised to hear the sound of the abbot's voice calling him from nearby. Coming to a stop, he turned to see the old hound jogging towards him.
"Owen! Where have you been?" The elderly canine panted, bent over with his paws on his knees as he sucked in gulps of air. "You didn't come to the feast!"
"I uh, got a little caught up at the city." He said, trying not to meet the abbot's gaze. "You know with the festival and all."
The abbot nodded sagaciously. "Oh I don't doubt that--you're young and the festival is certainly something to be enjoyed. However," he paused, wagging a stern paw at the otter. "I cannot abide by lies. Had you wanted to go, you should have just said so rather than telling some fib about needing to get spices. I worried that something happened when you weren't back in time."
"Yes, abbot," Owen murmured.
"That's father abbot, to you." Chuckled the old hound as he patted a paw to his stomach. "I'll have you know I had to eat two extra helpings of Sister Alacia's cake to make up for your absence. Luckily, Albus was able to help. Otherwise I fear I might have exploded."
At the mention of cake, cast a quick glance to the side kitchen entrance. "Do you think there's any left?"
"Of course there is. You run along now and enjoy some leftovers; just keep in mind that we plan on a late lunch today. Oog... I still can't bear to look at food."
Before Owen could leave, however, the abbot spoke again. "Oh, and Owen? Jeremy asked about you. He should be down in the cellars."
Crossing the lawn and padding down the stone steps recessed along the side of the abbey, Owen found that the spare entrance to the lower levels was still unlocked. With a push, the iron-bound door swung open on rusted hinges, protesting with a low, groaning squeak at being used after several weeks of neglect.
The rat, Jeremy, had scarcely crossed his mind since he had left to meet Richard the morning past. As he padded along the tunnel that wove behind the kitchens and lead to the cellar, Owen could have sworn he had heard the patter of paws nearby. He paused and looked about, half expecting to see the rat--instead, he saw one of the abbey's youngsters, a little mousemaid who held a scone in her tiny paws. She held a paw to her lips with a wink before scampering off, her prize clutched tight to her chest.
Moments later, an exasperated skunk in an apron jogged up. "Have you seen any of those little terrors? They just made off with a batch of scones!"
"No, not really," With a shrug, Owen made his way around to the main kitchen entrance. The skunk groaned as he hurriedly retied the strings of his apron, which flopped about comically as he scuttled down the hall in an attempt to rescue his baking.
As Owen padded in the direction the skunk had gone, he was again hailed by a voice from nearby.
"Where were you yesterday?" Called Jeremy as he shuffled down the hallway that ran the breadth of the kitchens, a small parcel held under his paws.
Owen was about to reply when the rat held up a paw and nodded in the direction of the cellars. "We can talk about it over this. I was able to pinch this when Brother Michael wasn't looking--thought you might like to share some, since you missed out at the festival."
Nodding his appreciation, Owen followed the lithe rat down the short flight of stairs nearby. The cellar was a cavernous place, hewn part-way from the living earth. It's cool, dry air was said to be the secret of Brother Edwin's many brews. As the two friends ghosted between rows of large oaken barrels, stacked casks, and rotund vats, Jeremy's large pink ears flicked about as if searching for something.
They came to a stop near the cellar's rear at a low wooden table that had been set up near a massive barrel that could easily fit two score of the cellar's inventory inside it. No one really knew what it was or how it got there, only that it had been there for decades.
"So what did you get?" Owen curiously laid a paw on the package after Jeremy set it on the tabletop.
"Candied damsons." A toothy grin adorned the rat's face as Jeremy slid the cloth-wrapped parcel out from under Owen's paw and care-fully unwrapped the contents. Inside were a cluster of small purple fruits that glistened with a thin shell of sweet honey.
Owen glanced up as he took one and rolled it gently between webbed fingers. "How did you manage to get them?"
"I kind of got lucky. Some of the little ones decided to raid the kitchens," said the rat as he bit into one of the preserved fruits, "just sort of grabbed them and snuck off."
They spoke as they ate, with Owen recalling his adventures in the city but paying careful mind to leave out any mention of Richard or the activities tavern. Jeremy was impressed by the variety of sights to be seen, and would, on occasion, wonder aloud as to what it would be like to go.
"It's too bad I usually have to stay here and do errands," he commented after a particularly lengthy retelling of an acrobatic performance, "I would have loved to see that."
Popping a damson into his mouth, the otter shrugged, speaking around the sugary morsel. "It might have been interesting, but it wasn't all that different from what we do here at the abbey."
"Eh, maybe not," Jeremy sighed and leaned back in his chair as he propped paws on the edge of the table.
Owen licked smeared honey from a finger as he watched the rat glancing around the cellar once more. "Something wrong?"
The rat hesitated a moment before he spoke, his ears falling back slightly as an almost guilty look came to his face. "Well, I was thinking, since we're alone."
"Huh?" Owen raised a brow.
Jeremy brought his hind paws back to rest on the floor with a light thump, and then leaned in close as if to speak in private. "Well, I thought I'd take you up on your offer--besides, I've wanted to try a few things."
Owen was about to say something when he felt the thick, hefty mass of the rat's tail curl about his own, its hairless tip tickling up along his leg. His mind flashed back to Richard, and immediately his thoughts began to question the first twinge of arousal. Casting a glance back down the rows of barrels, Owen tried to stall. "Are you sure it's safe here?"
"Sure," Jeremy murmured with a blush that colored the fur of his cheeks. "I used to come down here from time to time."
About to rise from his chair, Owen felt a tug at his paw. Jeremy held him in place with a mischievous grin on his face. "Just this once, rudder-butt."
Rising, Jeremy kept his paw on Owens and slowly backed with him against one of the tall casks. With the otter now in place, he lowered himself down to the smooth stonework of the floor until he knelt before Owen, his muzzle just scant inches from the growing bulge that had formed in the other's breeches. There he laid a paw, his fingertips gently caressing the warm, tender flesh beneath.
"I'm still not--" Owen attempted to say until he was cut off by a soft shush from the rat.
"Just let me do this," came the murmur as Jeremy tugged the ties of the otter's breeches free and yanked them down until they were held in place by little more than Owen's thick rudder, hanging precariously about his hips.
The rat gave a sharp intake of breath at the sight of his prize which sprouted from the furred confines of the otter's sheath. A blush tinted his cheeks as he admired the ebon shaft of flesh, a sight which he had only caught but a few fleeting glimpses of before. He breathed in deeply--then prepared, Jeremy leaned his head forwards, muzzle parting, and took the otter in-to his mouth.
Almost immediately, the heady scent of lutrin musk filled his senses. Closing his eyes, he let the quivering member slip but a few inches further, its passage warm and surprisingly slick as it pressed back against his tongue. A paw came to rest between his ears, accompanied by the sound of mewling from above. Jeremy drew back, feeling the slight roundness of the other's tip tickle against his lips, then plunged forwards once more until his nose was buried in thickly-scented fur.
With paws planted upon the otter's hips as Owen squirmed beneath his ministrations, he licked between short pulls of breath. It wasn't until Owen rocked forwards, driving his shaft to the roots, that he realized the consequences of his actions.
What had once been a steady drizzle became a torrent of thick, viscous fluid that splashed against the back of his throat, nearly at the same moment he heard his father's voice from across the cellar.
"Jeremy? Son?" Called Brother Edwin as he hobbled down the steps, beech wood sandals clacking against the stone with each step, "are you down here?"
Jeremy sputtered, and gagged, managing to swallow the mouthful of seed only barely, yet still the otter continued.
Owen was in a panic, his sex caught in the muzzle of his closest friend, whose father was steadily approaching them. With his back to the barrels, he had no choice but to vent the rest of his load.
"Ah, Owen; have you seen my son around? I can't seem to find him." The elderly rat said from where he stood several eyes overly, his view obstructed of the scene by row upon row of tall casks. "Could you assist me? It will only be a moment. I just need somebeast to help me carry these sacks of hops down."
Extricating himself from Jeremy's muzzle, Owen nodded as he fumbled to wipe remnants of milky fluid from himself as he retied the cord of his breeches. "J-just a moment!"
Jeremy knelt, frozen, as he watched the otter retreat off, evidence of his deed dribbling from his slack jaw.
Sniffing lightly as Owen approached, Brother Edwin nodded sagely as he retied the burlap sack, something the otter hadn't noticed until the other spoke. "Looks like a good crop they got; it has a right fine scent."
•••
William Blackpaw was known to many to be a stern fox. For the head of a Noble House, such things were expected; yet behind his cool and impassive gaze was a doting father. Richard had been privy to such knowledge since youth, having come to know the aristocrat as not just a monarch of the economy, but as the fatherly figure he dared not show. Today, it seemed, was not such a day.
"Richard, I cannot tell you how disappointed I am." His father stated from across the grand chambers of his study. Ledgers from bygone years were piled high about the impressive, oaken desk, seemingly adding an authority to the grayed one's words. "I had explicitly told you not to go out during the festival without an escort."
William rose slowly, his legs having long ago been ravaged by gout. When his son did not speak, he continued. "It is dangerous to be out in the city during such times; just before you arrived, I received a letter from a colleague. He had personally seen a bandit climbing the rooftops."
His gaze downcast, Richard traced the weave of the rug beneath his paws, its patterns well known over years of study. "And what about other times, father? Is it too dangerous for me to accompany you to your showing today?"
Striding to a shelf, his paw scanning over a number of volumes before selecting a leather-bound tome, William shook his head. "Gods know that I only want the best for you,"
He couldn't stand it any longer. It was the same story he had heard time and again. "If mother were still here, things wouldn't be this way! You changed when she died, William--you're no longer the same creature you now pretend to be." Richard practically yelled the words. From the corner of his eye, he could see the serving girl flinch as she collected a stack of parchments.
"If Amelia," pausing in mid shout, William pressed a weary paw to his eyes and lowered his voice with a pained sigh, "if your mother were still with us, then perhaps things would not be as they are now. Please, leave me to my work--I took the liberty of letting Valencia into your chambers; I suggest you see her, she has been worried about you."
Richard stormed out of the study, oblivious to the world around him as he stamped along the winding corridors of the manor. The servants barely had time to utter a greeting before he continued on towards the south wing. Of all the things his father could do, this was by far the most foolish. Berating himself for failing to say something earlier, the young fox cursed under his breath before finally arriving at his chambers.
He stood before the door, paws clenched and ready to throw Valencia from his room--one of the guards could deal with her, then--but, as he looked upon the ornate ironwork which so graced the lacquered timbers, Richard's mind wandered to the otter. With a sigh, he pushed open the portal and stepped inside.
"Is that you, Richard?" The wheedling voice greeted him almost immediately after he had set paw within the well-lit chambers. The sun streaked in through the open shades that held the balcony at bay, but not the echo of the vixen's voice.
Rolling his eyes, he doffed his cloak and flung it over the back of a tall chair as he made his way through the wide anteroom. "Yes," he replied, his ears back in distaste.
"Come out to the balcony, dear. The air is simply wonderful." Valencia tittered.
Richard did as he was bidden, knowing there would be little he could do to change the mind of the vixen. Shielding his eyes with a paw as he stepped out onto the balcony, he gazed out at the river that shimmered in noontide sun from where it coursed beneath the limestone cliffs. Far beyond the city's walls, past the fields and plains, rose the mountains in the distance, their silhouette like the jagged out-line of some great sleeping beast. Slowly, Richard turned to face Valencia, bracing him-self for the worst.
It had come to be expected as of late that if Valencia did not show herself immediately, it was due to her being in such a mood as the one he found her in now. Still, the image of the vixen, her silver fur laid bare against the plush upholstery of a divan upon which she sprawled with ample breasts framed with a crown of jet upon her chest, was shocking.
"Valencia, how many times do I have to tell you--" he began as he walked to the balcony's edge.
"Oh come now, Richard, we are betrothed," she cooed.
Richard stayed silent as he looked out over the vista below. This is too much, he thought dourly.
There was the sound of fur brushing across fine fabric. Moments later, he saw her paws rest beside his as the pressure of her bodice rubbed along his back. She spoke in a demure tone, her fingers intertwining with his. "You can play such games with your father, but I know what is truly in that heart of yours."
"If you had any idea, you wouldn't be here bothering me." He retorted.
Nipping at the furred rim of his ear, Valencia gave a sigh. "Why must you always push me away like that?"
Extricating himself from her grasp, Richard spoke in a low tone. "I've seen you with that servant boy. You can hardly be betrothed if you have already given yourself to another."
"Oh Richard," she whispered, "I can have my toys, you can have yours."
"What do you--?"
She clicked her tongue, cutting him off. "For the son of a noble, Richard, you have rather interesting taste. If you so desire the company of another male, then I dare not stop you--but know that my heart belongs to you."
Richard held back a growl that had been welling up in his throat. "You dare not breathe a word of this. Now leave--forget what you know."
Valencia stayed where she was, pressing her body closer to him until he could feel the heat of her touch through his clothes. Curling arms about his middle, she planted a salacious kiss upon his cheek then finally withdrew. She was certain he wouldn't be watching her--he never did--but just in case, she threw an extra sway into her hips as she sauntered off, waiting until the last moment to wrap a gauzy robe plucked from the arm of the divan about herself.
Stalking back to her quarters, Valencia cursed under her breath at her latest failure. It was simply maddening how Richard defied her--no other male could claim such.
For months now, the vixen had attempted to reign in the wandering heart of the eldest son of the Blackpaw family--if she could win him, it would not only grant the little province to the north the recognition they could never receive, but also access to the House's wealth. Many a time had Valencia slunk into William's study to peruse the ledgers and records, under the guise of wishing to read from his collection when charming a servant or guard was not enough to gain passage.
To her, the beauty of her body was little more than a tool to secure her position as one of the House's inheritors, for with it she could seduce any who she pleased. Yet somehow, unlike all the rest, this gods-forsaken Richard Blackpaw was immune to her guile.
Throwing open the door, she made her way to a tall stand mirror hidden behind a punched-wood screen. Ogling her own beauty, Valencia sighed. "So how am I to get him?"
"Lady Valencia?" Called a thin, reedy voice from the adjoining room, "I-is that you? Are you back?"
She rolled her eyes before turning to pad to the bedchamber. Pushing aside the curtains that obscured the archway, she was greeted by the sight of Darach, his lithe form hunched upon the edge of the wide, poster bed. For a weasel, she had found that he was not only vigorous, but also fairly well endowed, a trait that at least made up for the servile demeanor.
"Yes, Darach. But you are not supposed to be in here." She replied softly.
His eyes widened a moment before he looked away, muttering an apology. "I, um, I'm sorry, m'lady, it's just. I did as you asked."
A devilish gleam came to the vixen's eyes at the news. "Oh? And what have you found, my little pet?" Cooed Valencia as she drew curtains back into their proper place with a sidelong glance towards Darach.
Emboldened by her words, he sat up straight and replied immediately. "I followed that otter just like you said. He went back to the abbey down the roadway."
"Saint Niccolo," she murmured. This was by far unexpected. Was Richard seeing one of those stuffy monks?
"A-anyway, Lady Valencia, I was thinking that since I, well..." His voice trailed off. Shifting where he sat, the young weasel tried hard not to appear as if he was eyeing her.
It was trivial to catch the hint of desperation in the servant's voice. "Yes, yes, I will repay you, just like I had promised." She said as she strode over towards the weasel, loosing the gossamer robes and letting them pool in a heap upon the silken rug. Placing a single paw upon Darach's chest, she pressed him back against the downy mattress.
Lying back against the soiled sheets, Valencia stared up at the draped fabric canopy strung up above the bed. After Darach had left several hours ago with his new commands, she felt it pertinent to rest. The boy was becoming more skilled with each 'payment' she levied for his services, and already she was becoming rather fond of the twinge of soreness.
It brought back memories of how she had first met the servant boy.
It was but a month or two after her arrival in the Blackpaw manor. Valencia had been searching for wherever it was that the Lord Blackpaw would disappear off to, suspecting that it might be where the family's wealth was kept safe.
Her search had brought her to a small set of stairs that were tucked carefully away behind a row of columns in the main hall, barely visible if one were to walk its length. Winding her way down, she came to what must have been a cellar area. The walls were lined with uneven stone blocks and lit at even intervals by small lanterns set into iron hooks.
Following a side passage that seemed to go at a slight downwards angle, Valencia found herself amidst what could be none other than the servant's quarters. Doubting that a noble would risk hiding his coin so close to those who served beneath him, the vixen was about to head back and try the other corridor when a sound caught her ears.
Water sloshed about nearby, accompanied by off-key humming. Her curiosity piqued, Valencia made her way towards its source where she found a stout wooden door that stood part-way opened. It gave way with only a light squeal of rusted hinges as she strode into the room beyond.
Seated on an upturned bucket, a young weasel poured another over his head, sending a cascade of suds and grime into the sluice that ran the length of the room.
"You there, I need your help."
The weasel leaped up as if stung, kicking over the bucket and nearly falling flat on his tail. "L-l-lady Valencia! You shouldn't be down here! I... it's not proper for a lady to--"
Cutting him off with a wave of her paw, she padded into the bath, taking care to avoid the pile of rags nearby. "Where is it that his lord-ship goes when he comes down here?"
"I'm not sure I understand, m'lady," he said, having found his voice once more. "Which do you mean?"
"Oh come now," she purred, a paw teasing the ruffled edge of her bodice, allowing the shock of white fur to plump as she pressed her chest outwards. "A smart young weasel such as yourself should know."
He gulped, his eyes immediately going to her breasts. "L-lord Blackpaw usually goes down to the old vault," the weasel stammered.
If the faint scent of mustelid wasn't a fair indication, it was plain to see the boy's steadily growing arousal. Valencia was impressed--it was certainly one of the largest she had seen, even if it looked fairly absurd against his slender frame. "You will take me there." She commanded.
The weasel shook his head, trying hard not to meet her gaze. "Only the Lord Blackpaw him-self is allowed in there, m'lady," he murmured, his paw groping towards one of the buckets.
"Up on your paws."
The servant boy replied smartly, the sudden movement setting his shaft to swaying lewdly where it hung between his legs. Biting his lip, he stood facing her. "Y-yes m'lady?"
Valencia padded forwards a few paces to close the gap between them, her voice having become soft, almost gentle in tone. "It will be our little secret, then," she said as she slid a paw along the underside of the quivering flesh of the boy's sex, "and I promise I'll reward you well."
Nodding dumbly, the weasel scrambled to pull a pair of slacks up around his burgeoning arousal. "Yes m'lady, r-right away!"
Touching a single finger to herself and feeling the warmth that still lingered there, she came back with a strand of glistening fluid that hung from a claw. It should have been Richard's seed inside of her, not that of some lowly servant. With a sigh, she reached over and blew out the single candle that guttered on the small night-stand.
That night, Valencia dreamed of a figure that loomed over the city.